


Petrichor

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Support, F/F, Friendship, M/M, Mary is a an asshole, Old Friend, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock is not alone, Unrequited Love, Wry Humor, a bit of angst, sarcasm used even in deadly situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><span class="big"><b>Petrichor:</b> <i>1. the scent of rain on dry earth. 2. The scent of dust after rain.</i></span><br/>After getting shot by the wife of the man he loves, Sherlock Holmes leaves the hospital to continue living at 221b. Thankfully, he is not alone.</p><p>With the help of someone his brother once tried desperately to get Sherlock to forget, Sherlock slowly becomes himself again. He tries so hard, but the world is unforgiving.</p><p>
  <span class="small">Johnlock fic.</span>
  <br/>
  <span class="big">-Updates infrequently-</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She Fooled Me

She sat next to him without a word, opened a book, and began to read quietly.  
He lay there silently, breathing carefully, staring at the ceiling.  
He hadn't seen or heard from her in a year. Mycroft had kept her busy and out of London.  
She must have snuck in.  
“Mary Watson shot me,” He finally said, because he hated it when she was soundless.  
“Wonderful deduction, that.” She didn't look up from her novel.  
He took a breath, not to deep and not to shallow, and let it slide out of his lips with a sigh.  
“She fooled me.”  
Aida slowly placed a bookmark in the novel to mark her place and shut it. She slipped it into her lap and rested her hands on the hardcover, interlacing her fingers together. She looked right into his eyes, and he wanted to look away, but he couldn't.  
“Did she, really?”  
When he looked into her eyes he saw something deadly. Something deadly, but not aimed at him.  
“Yes.”  
She nodded slowly and then shifted in her chair.  
“She's not the nicest girl to find in London.” Which meant Aida knew who Mary really was.  
“How so?” He needed to know, at least a bit.  
“She seems to like the company of psychopaths.”  
No.  
“No.” It came out faint, and rushed, and he was scared.  
Aida looked at him with an unreadable expression, and he closed his eyes and turned his head away. Mary had been a pawn in Moriarty's game. For some reason that hurt more than the gunshot to his chest.  
“Come home with me. Stay.” Please.  
He knew of what he was asking for. And he winced, shifting away, because if she said no now, if _anyone_ said no now, he wouldn't be able to keep it together, not anymore.  
He was already so alone.  
She paused, and then sighed. “Alright.”


	2. Invisable Walls

“What's that?” Sherlock asked, staring at the notebook in her lap, the pen in her hand.  
“Four line poetry,” Aida said absently, lifting the pen to tap the clip on her lip. Her gaze slipped from the page to his face. “You should try it, sometime.”  
He made a face and then held his hand out. She lifted her eyebrows questioningly.  
“Let me see it,” he sighed.  
Wordlessly, she handed the notebook to him, a small smile on her lips.

_The walls are invisible,_   
_but that does not mean they aren’t there_   
_Like a little girl being cautious near a cliff_   
_We know boundaries, some are open air_   


“Hmm.” He hummed, flipping through the notebook.  
“What, did you expect love poems and lines describing dirty tumbles between the sheets?” She teased.  
“No. But it is surprising that you can fit such information in just four lines. Of course, it is up to the reader to interpret or understand, and many would be left scratching their heads in blatant confusion, thanks to their slippery grasp on intellectualism, but It holds a certain appeal.”  
“You know how to make a girl feel understood,” Aida sighed in exasperation, and then added, “and the rest of the general population, for that matter. Give it back.” Taking the notebook back, she didn't comment on his obvious lift in spirits, partially in fear of him crashing back down again, but mostly because she knew he'd glower at her as if to prove her wrong.  
His gaze lingered on the notebook and she quirked an eyebrow. He glanced at her face and then looked away, out the window.  
Several minutes passed by as Aida patiently waited.  
“I have nothing to do until am discharged from this hellhole in two days. I need something to occupy me.” He started, gaze flickering to hers and back multiple times as he spoke. Aida's snort interrupted what other things he was going to say.  
“I'll bring Scrabble. A sketchbook, a notebook, one of my old mom's forensics textbooks from the 70's that she has stashed somewhere so you can scoff at it.” She closed the notebook and slipped it into her bag, and started to get up. Sherlock's hand nearest her twitched and his mouth opened as if to say something. “And maybe I'll see if I can get John to come too, even though we both know he has no clue who I am.”  
“Today?” His voice was hopeful.  
“Tomorrow,” She rolled her eyes and pointed to the clock on the wall that displayed the time. “It's ten at night, Will.”  
He flinched a bit, caught off-guard by the name. He always forgot that she knew his full name. He blamed Mycroft. He tried not to think of the real reason she knew it.  
“You're leaving.” He accused.  
“Mycroft is coming to scold me in about ten minutes, according to his texts. Do you want that to happen outside away from here, or inside, here, with you, as he scowls and looms and flops his umbrella every which way?”  
“Go, go, go,” he shoos, flapping his hands, looking disturbed by the idea of having his brother in here for the fifth time this week.  
“That's that I thought. I'll be here at around... mmm, eleven.” He made a face and she put a hand on her hip. “I'm not waking up at the crack of fucking dawn, Will. And don't even pretend to be surprised by that. You know how much I hate mornings.”  
“Ask Mycroft for his key to 221b.” He reminds her.  
She smiled, the hand on her hip falling to slip into her jeans pocket as she leaned back to rest her back in the door frame of his room. “Alright. Night, Will.”  
“You're going to have to stop calling me that, at least in public, you know,” Sherlock sighed, rubbing his face with both of his palms. She smirked and waved at him, and then was gone.  
Sherlock stared around the empty room and huffed out a breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beginning next chapter, Sherlock will have a four-lined poem written for each day. Once he is back to 221b, the chapters will be titled by day, (day one, day two, and so on), but there will be time jumps and some chapters will look back on how Sherlock got to know Aida.
> 
> One of my neighbors' dogs won't shut the fuck up. It's driving me insane so I can't write any more right now. Tomorrow, maybe. (It's one in the fucking morning why the heckie is their dog outside anyways?? How are they not annoyed by it?? UGH.)


	3. Three Against One

John showed up first, because he was an early riser and Aida was not.  
“So I got a call from a woman.” He started, once he had breezed in and threw a Jolly Rancher at Sherlock's face. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he unwrapped the candy slowly, waiting for John to get to the point. “And she said 'hey you should com over to hospital, hang out with Sherlock and me.'” John shook his head and flopped into the chair on Sherlock's left. “Who is she?”  
“Our cousin,” Mycroft mused from the doorway, causing both men to turn and scowl at him. “Who I've told to stay away, if I remember correctly.”  
Sherlock scoffed from his perch on the hospital bed, wedging the candy into his cheek so he could talk. “She'll never listen to you,” He said, almost triumphantly.  
Mycroft sighed and tapped his umbrella on the marble floor. “I am quite aware.”  
“It's because you never ask nicely, Mycroft, you never say please.”  
“Even if I were the most courteous about it, she would fail to listen to me. And when have you ever said please?”  
“Hold up,” John said, a look of annoyance on his face, his voice dripping with exasperation. “So I was called by your cousin?” He directed the question to Sherlock. “And I'd like to know how the pain is.” He fluttered his hands at the general direction of the bandage.  
Sherlock made a gesture with his hands that was wild and flailing. “Yeth,” He said, lisping slightly around the candy. “And I've been bettah. Noth'n too terr'ble.”  
“Ah,” Mycroft smiled unpleasantly at a woman standing at the door. She was slumped on the door frame, both hands cradling a rather large cup of Starbucks coffee, wearing what anyone would dub as 'lounge wear'. An oversized hoodie and comfy looking sweatpants that had multiple tears in it. The only thing that could be deemed as normal outerwear would have been her shoes, which looked like a rather battered pair of converse. As everyone in the room stared at her, she reached up to scratch under the messy bun of dark hair with one hand while lifting her coffee to her lips with another. “Morning, Aida.”  
“Shut up, Mycroft.” She sighed, shuffling to sit at Sherlock's right. “You're the last person I want to see so early in the morning.”  
“It's ten in the morning,” Mycroft said, sounding scandalized.  
“Yes. Way to early to see your judgmental face.” She hummed into her coffee. Her eyes slid from Sherlock's face to John's, and offered a small, sleepy smile. “Hi. I'm Aida. Sorry about the short call— _someone_ cut it off before I could tell you who I was.” She turned to glare purposefully at Mycroft.  
Sherlock glared at his brother with a little bit more fire in his eyes. “I always knew you were a meddling arse but I never thought you were capable of swooping so low.”  
“You cut off my call?” John said, anger evident on his features.  
Mycroft cleared his throat and opened his mouth, but was interrupted by Aida before he could utter a single self righteous word to defend himself.  
“Next time you do that I'm calling your mom.”  
Mycroft blinked rapidly and turned to stare at her in disbelief. Sherlock smirked.  
“You know how mummy gets.” Sherlock said.  
“Mycroft, if you drop any more of my calls I'll shoot out all of the CCTV cameras I can find.” John warned.  
“Three against one works brilliantly,” Sherlock said after a long pause of having Mycroft scowl at everyone in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't have a notebook yet so no poem for this chapter or the other chapters detailing this day of delightful interactions. Most of the Holmes family do not take will to Mycroft's meddling. And Aida being related to Sherlock has nothing to do about her knowing his name.


	4. Scrabble

Mycroft didn't want stay long, and voiced this many times, but once the Scrabble board was retrieved from the boot of Aida's car and the tiles handed out to everyone in the room, Mycroft sat down in one of the plastic chairs and refused to leave. Much to Sherlock and John's dismay.

Aida, once caffeinated, was surprisingly well mannered and quiet. She was by no means a pushover; John realized this once he heard her and Mycroft bicker back and forth for the first hour of arriving at Sherlock's hospital room. Unlike Sherlock, who resorted in pointing out Mycroft's flaws to try and knock his brother down a peg, she just... remained unimpressed.

When Mycroft mentioned something about a meeting he had to go to tomorrow, which included the President of the United States and Russia's equivalent of Mycroft, she gave him the most blank, bored expression John had ever seen. She had Sherlock's uninterested stare beat by about a hundred points, John concluded, which was saying quite a lot. Her amount of care given was none, and her face very openly expressed this in such a way that almost seemed to leave Mycroft with a mildly uncomfortable slouch in his usual perfect stature.

Aida had given up her seat for Mycroft and she found herself sitting cross-legged at the foot of Sherlock's hospital bed, while Sherlock sat across from her with his legs drawn up and a half-hearted scowl on his face. John was sitting in his chair, but had taken to leaning over to rest his elbows on the bed, his Scrabble tile holder balanced carefully on the sheets between his arms.

John watched Sherlock from the corner of his eye, making sure he didn't slouch and re-open his wound.

“Aida, you keep on giving me bad letters.” Sherlock complained for the fifth time in roughly thirty minutes.

“You picked those letters out yourself, you ass.” Aida pointed out.

“You really need to stop blaming others for your shortcomings, brother,” Mycroft stated smugly as he carefully positioned his tiles on his tile holder in his favored particular order.

“Shut up, Mycroft.” Sherlock grunted.

John grinned. His phone buzzed in his back pocket and he ignored it. Sherlock glanced at John in mild surprise at this.

It was Aida's turn and from the look on her face her tiles were not working in her favor.

“So, Aida, what do you do?” John asked finally. He had been itching to ask—he'd learned early on that any and all Holmes relatives had interesting jobs. His eyes flicked over to Sherlock and Mycroft's faces, wondering if it was an okay question to ask. Not all Holmes jobs could be talked about, of course.

“I'm a vet,” Aida said, shrugging as she dropped a single tile onto the board and slid it up to make one of the pre-existing words past-tense.

“Ah, that's—” John started, but was quickly cut off by Sherlock's interruption.

“You failed to mention you're the _Queen's_ veterinarian,” he pointed out.

John turned his full body to gape openly at Aida, who was hunched over her tiles with a look of concentration on her face. Mycroft openly smirked from his side of the bed-turned-table-surface.

“Oh. Yeah.” She glanced up to smile at John distractedly. “I'm also one of the trainers for her dogs. But I mostly look after the puppies, if there are any.” And then her eyes went wide, as if she just remembered something, and turned to Sherlock. “Sorry, John, to interrupt your question, but Sherlock, I have a confession.”

Mycroft perked up at this, a look of interest flashing across his features. Sherlock's eyes snapped up to look Aida directly in the eye. “Continue.” He rumbled out.

Aida bit her lip and then said, slowly, “last year one of Elizabeth's Corgis was misbehaving. To be honest,” she added, directing this at John, “the dogs have always had problems. They nip and growl and are so spoiled it's insane.” John raised his eyebrows at this, but didn't interject. She then tuned back to Sherlock. “Anyways, I helped one of the dogs settle down. He's the calmest, now. And just the other day she told me that she's going to give me a gift. To show her gratitude.”

Sherlock looked at her with a pained expression. “I'm not letting a dog inside my flat, Aida.”

Aida raised her eyebrows. “You're the one who wanted me to stay. I can always move back to—”

“No, no, fine. Fine.” Sherlock looked as if he were about to sulk. “Bring your stupid royal dog. If it messes up my experiments, I'm going to pour acid on its bed.”

Aida managed to look unimpressed and guilty at the same time. “You loved Red—”

Mycroft cleared his throat rather loudly. Sherlock flinched a bit, but not at Mycroft's obvious interruption.

John looked rather lost. “Wait. Wait. You're staying at 221b?” John said, surprise and confusion on his face.

Aida looked relieved to have a slight shift in subject. “Yes. Well. Until I get around to remodeling 221c, of course.”

Everyone looked at her in surprise. “221c?” They all said in unison. Aida looked amused. Sherlock and Mycroft both scowled while John let out a low chuckle.

“Oh, yes. It just needs to be cleaned up and restored. Mrs Hudson is such a wonderful lady, by the way, I don't know how she deals with you.” She smiled fondly at Sherlock and he huffed.

“I thought she didn't have the money?” John said, sounding worried. “Is she taking out a loan?”

“Oh, no. I'm making Mycroft pay for it.” She smiled sweetly.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “You are, are you?”

“Oh, yes. Unless you want to explain to my employer why you're forcing me to move

back to where I don't want to live...?” She asked, tone sickly sweet. John was quickly learning that 'favor blackmail' was a Holmes trait. Also, he noted to never, ever trust Aida when she used that nice, sugary tone.

“You're insufferable.” Mycroft finally sighed. John, however, heard and saw a twinge of pride in his voice and expression. “You should really reconsider my offer of employment.”

“Yeah,” Aida snorted, “Try telling _that_ to Elizabeth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?  
> Looks like Johns ignoring some texts. Uh-oh.  
> also, sorry about the sudden shift in formatting.


	5. A Little Talk

“What are you doing, Aida?”

Mycroft tapped his umbrella on the kitchen floor of 221b as Aida shoved piles of notes to the very end of the couch and flopped down on the cleared space.

“Cleaning up your mess, I suppose,” she mused, shoving her sleeves up over her elbows and scratching absentmindedly at her inner arm.

Mycroft drifted to sit on an arm rest of one of the armchairs near the fireplace. He raised his eyebrows.

 _“My_ mess?”

She looked at him with an expression akin to a look one might give a person who is being intently moronic. “You expect me to sit here and pretend that _Mary_ was a coincidence. A coincidence you just _happened_ to ignore. Oh, Mycroft,” Aida sighed, shaking her head and looking up at him with a pained look on her face, “you slipped and it cost Sherlock his life, if only briefly. Next time, it may not be so brief.”

Mycroft's calm facade crumpled as he sat down in the chair with a slump to his shoulders. “I know.” He buried his face in his hands and for a few minutes both of them were silent. Aida let him have a moment to compose himself. He looked up at her after calming down, searching her face. “What are you doing, Aida? Here? Now?” He asked, opting to change the subject.

Aida gazed at him. “You know what I'm doing here. I'm paying half the rent. I'm scaring off the local dealers with my more intimidating contacts and general angry demeanor. I'm being his family at the moment, because even though we'd both like to see him mentally stable and flouncing around like the little boy he is, he's not exactly in a healthy place right now. Mentally or physically.”

“And you think that your presence will have a positive affect on him? May I remind you where you two officially met?” He sounded a mixture of agitated and resigned. “I'm not implying that you are not welcome. I'm heavily emphasizing that you may do more harm than good.” He clarified. “He relapsed not long ago.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am quite aware of where I met him, Mycroft, one does not simply forget stumbling upon a cousin assaulting a rehab nurse. But let me ask you this; how was he doing before I was there?”

The silence that followed spoke louder than words ever could have.

“Are you sure a dog is a wise decision?” Mycroft asked after a bout of comfortable silence.

“A dog's a great idea.”

“I fail to see your logic.”

“Logic and Comfort usually don't go on a date and call each other back afterward, Mycroft.” Aida sighed, flopping her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You're a constant Debbie Downer, you know that, right? You need to lighten up.”

Mycroft shifted in his chair and she peered over her nose to observe him.

“What.”

“I'd just like to say that I'm...” he seemed to weigh different words before settling on “glad.”

Aida straightened up to give him a look of bewilderment.

“That you're here.” Mycroft finally said, awkwardness laced in his tone, “I know you'll look after him.”

“You're one of the most sentiment-riddled men I know, My.” He tone was that of total honesty. “You've got a great big bleeding heart that ruins all carpets with crimson smudges of feelings. Yet, you're such a _dick_.”

“Now you're just being ridiculous.”

“You might as well speak in sonnets from now on.” They sat there for a minute, staring at each other, before her face lit up. “I know, lets talk about your love life. I've heard that you've been stalking that DI of Sherlock's through your video feeds. Romantic, but I'd not mention it to him on the first date.” She changed the subject without pretending to not change the subject.

“You really need to stop having such daft pillow talk with Vivian.” Mycroft said, sounding highly embarrassed.

“Girls gossip. Although, no, I'm _not_ having sex with your personal assistant.” Aida said brightly.

Mycroft stared at her with a look of disbelief. Aida's smile dropped off her face immediately and her expression turned to one of worry.

“You're slipping, My.” Her tone lowered with concern. “You'd usually tell that she has asked me out multiple times but I've always _turned her down_.”

Mycroft eyed her closely before saying, slowly, “I'm rather riddled with worry. I was hoping for your... _assistance_ , but you are a veterinarian now.”

Aida sat back to stare openly at him. “Mary shot him, not Magnussen.” She then paused to stare blankly in the fireplace. “Mary's who we have to look at.”

Mycroft shifted in his seat, hands twitching around his umbrella. “I'm afraid you may have to be employed by me yet again, Aida.”

Aida closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can't believe you. A year ago you forced me out of the country and warned me to not speak to Will again. Now, you want me here, and you are willing to re-activate my status. Pick a fucking side, you _indecisive—_ ” She cut herself off to laugh sadly, and then shook her head and said no more.

There was a beat of silence, and then Mycroft sighed. “Sherlock is a reckless, relapsed Consulting Detective. John is an adrenaline junkie soldier and doctor married to an ex-assassin nurse. I'm the bloody British Government. Might as well add our double agent turned vet cousin into the mix.”

Aida's eyes flew open at the same time that she started to laugh. Mycroft waited until she was done with her fits of giggles and wordlessly watched her bend over and slap the sofa cushions. “I actually went to veterinary school, you know,” she finally weezed out.

“I am aware.” Mycroft said bitterly. “You sent me the school bills.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aida and Sherlock have a platonic relationship that resembles two close siblings. Nothing more. This is a Johnlock fic.


End file.
